


Crucible

by LittleRaeofSunshine



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Childhood Trauma, F/M, Past Abuse, Reluctant Hero, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 12:42:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3120560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRaeofSunshine/pseuds/LittleRaeofSunshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the tender age of 5, Helianthus Trevelyan manifests magic in tragic circumstances. Rejected by her parents, she is shipped off to the Circle of Magi at Ostwick. And you thought that Kirkwall was bad.....<br/>A fleshed out background before the events of Dragon Age: Inquisition begin. The story will eventually cover major plot point, character development and a relationship with everyone's favorite former Templar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: descriptions of violence, abuse and implied rape.
> 
> This is the first time I've ever written one of these, so any feedback would be appreciated. I love Bioware's stories and the characters that they write. I decided that I wanted to know more about my female Trevelyan, so I ended up starting her backstory. It came out a bit darker than I was intending, but it should make for interesting character interactions later on. 
> 
> Personally, I think it goes without saying, but I've seen the disclaimer on just about every other story on the site... Obviously, I don't own the rights to anything. Bioware has that privilege.

A little girl spun to make the skirt of her blue silk party dress flare. Children scrambled about a garden at her fifth name-day celebration. She laughed, and her wild, vibrant joy spread amongst those present. A young boy, his innocent heart clumsy in attempted affections, snuck up behind her. He dropped a handful of bugs in her hair. The adults tried to stifle their amusement. One took the boy by the arm and lectured him on etiquette. Suddenly, the world shifted. The cool autumn day crackled in a sudden oppressive heat as winds began to swirl about the girl. Her dark brown curls smoldered. The hem of her dress ignited. Her eyes blazed with a molten heat. She screamed, and suddenly the rest of the garden was on fire too. She _was_ fire.

The world burned. It seemed hours, but mere moments passed. The flames subsided, the heat ebbed from the air. The screams remained. The girl’s, but also the parents of other children unlucky enough to be near the girl. She was badly burned, her legs blistered and blackened. Mercifully, she lost consciousness.

Whispers. Words that don’t quite penetrate the mental fog _…never believed… inferno… three children gone and…give her to the Templars… monster… mage_. That last is said with such fear and anger that the girl began to panic. Her eyes fluttered open. She was lying in a small stone bench. The sharp odor of an elfroot tincture for burns permeated the air in the tiny, stone-walled room. She turned her head to the direction of the speaker. The door, a gate of iron bars, was locked from without. The speakers stood on the other side.

_Momma. Papa_. They were fiercely arguing about something. The man noticed her slight movement and turned to look at the girl. She lifted her hand weakly, stretching out to a familiar bulwark of comfort. He couldn’t quite mask the disgust he felt at her impending touch, and she recoiled. _What is happening??_ She wanted to wail. Scream and cry and demand comfort. She opened her mouth, but her throat was too dry. No sound emerged.

Her mother’s voice was cold. Hard and distant is a way it never was before. “Helianthus Trevelyan, you are a disgrace. You managed to be the first, and hopefully only member, of this noble House to have the poor taste to manifest magic. To make matters worse, you did so in the most public setting possible and managed to kill two children from families we were hoping to make alliances with.” This is snarled accusingly at the girl. She feels tears beginning to form. _But I didn’t. I didn’t know. I didn’t call it. It’s not my fault!_ Please... “You killed your brother.” The woman’s voice catches and she turned away, unable to even look at her daughter.

“The Templars will be here in two days’ time.” Her father was speaking now. His voice was less hostile, but no less distant. “Your legs will be healed enough by then to move you without killing you. You will be taken to the Circle of Magi at Ostwick. You will live there and never return here. You are no longer a part of this family. They will either beat control of this curse into you, or they will put you down as the monster that you are.” With that, they turned and left the girl in darkness.

Tears fell from her cheeks. This time she felt the fire begin deep within her. An inferno built and raged in her mind, and she embraced it. The swirling chaos of the fire was preferable in that moment to the soul searing pain of her parents betrayal. In her loneliness and need, she called to the one she’s always been told will guide her path. _Andraste…_

Although all memory of it later fades, she was answered. In the heart of her inner fire, a voice all at once deep, resonant and achingly beautiful surrounded her. It sang to her of both pain and comfort. It reminded her of love. ‘Child of mine, you will suffer. You will know terrible pain and sadness, but lose not your heart. Keep faith. You are in the crucible now, and when you emerge you will be MY force with which to call a reckoning. You will be what the world needs, when it needs it most. You will gather about you a band of followers, loyal, kind and worthy. Together you will rediscover laughter and joy. You will bring my light to the darkness. Keep faith.’


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Growing up in the Circle at Ostwick is not what you would call fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own anything, etc. etc. 
> 
> Let me know what you think.

Six years later and Helianthus was biting her lip. She knelt, naked on a cold stone floor with her arms around a column. Uncooked grains of rice dug their way into the skin of her knees again. _Whack_. She growled low in her throat, refusing to cry out. _Whack. Whack. Whack_. Try as she might, she can’t stop the tears from forming at the pain.

The Revered Mother in charge of all non-magic education and ‘discipline’ of the young mage apprentices in the Ostwick Tower sighed and rested her arm for a moment. “You know this will all end when you cry out. Scream for your forgiveness! Repent before Andraste and the Maker for the sin of your existence! You always make this so much harder on yourself than necessary. That’s why your back is covered in so many scars. I only have to give the others one stripe each year, but you…” She shook her head and glanced at the Templar in the room. His presence assured her safety from any magics these mages might think to summon against her. The Templar nodded. His face doesn’t show it, but his stomach heaved when the Mother laid into the child again. Still, he did nothing. _Whack._

Helianthus steadfastly remained silent, but she felt the roar of the inferno calling to her. It came as a surprise, a pleasant one, because the Templar’s sole purpose for being in this room with her was to negate her magic, but _it’s not working._ Slowly, the heat began to build within her core. _Whack. Whack_. The Mother and the Templar don’t seem to notice the rising temperature, too intent on their task. _Whack_. When Helianthus grinned and began to laugh, the Mother faltered, confused. By then it was too late. The fire erupted from Helianthus. Once more, she _was_ fire.

The familiar smell of burnt flesh reawakens Helianthus. Her back is agony. That mother had gone at her far more ferociously than previous years, and she’d left nothing but a bloody crisscross loosely held together by thin strips of flesh. She looks around her, there is nothing in the small stone cell but her own naked body, a pile of ashes and a silvery puddle. It takes a moment until she realizes that it must be the Mother and the Templar in his armor. She sits, leaning against the whipping column and laughs.

She was still laughing when they dragged her away hours later. Someone, maybe another mage, put elfroot salve on her back, and got her into a loose robe. Then the Templars came for her. She knew they would. Surprisingly, they didn’t immediately attack to kill her or make her tranquil. _Strange_ , she thought. _I thought they would kill me for sure this time_. No, instead, they marched her into a deeper part of the Tower than she’d even been in. _Ahh, more cells. But these seem… different._ Some property of these cells functioned as a constant Templar guard might by suppressing magic. Combined with the effects of several actual Templars, and even her newly found strength left her. Once more she was an eleven year old child, defenseless.

The Knight-Commander shoved her into yet another tiny stone-walled room. “Be grateful that you yet live, mage. Any other, and they would have been slain immediately for your crimes. Your Trevelyan name protects you. For the moment.” They locked her in with the darkness and the silence. Her guards did not speak, and Helianthus was alone but for her own thoughts. _Helianthus… sunflower…. A stupid name, a flower meant for a garden. This… this place is hell. And so shall I be. Hel. A name fit for this life._


End file.
